I nodded, listening. I’d heard stories like this before, stories that rambled more than the clouds on a hot summer day. It would be impolite to ask him to come to the point. But I could wish he would.
“So, I had the manager put up a little sign on the bulletin board about me finding the medallion, and I took it home.”
When he didn’t say anything else, I assumed he was finished. “And you’d like me to find the owner?”
That last was something new for me. I had been able to find lost things since I was a kid. I could look into the person’s mind, and if they held an image of what they were looking for, I could locate it.
A life-and-death situation had changed the gift I was born with. Now I could hold possessions that belonged to other people and discern information about them. The information wasn’t always what I needed or even wanted to know, but the ability to gather those sometimes disjointed facts had come in handy more than once.
“Well, I hadn’t thought of that,” Old Man Sweeney said. “In fact, I didn’t even know you could do that. When did it happen?”
I kind of explained the basics to him. Everyone in Duck knew about the gift I’d been born with. Only a few people knew about the gift I’d acquired. “Do you have the medallion with you?”
“See, that’s the problem, I guess. I can’t find the medallion. And I had a phone call from the owner wanting it back. I was thinking you could do your thing and find it for me.”
“I’m sure we can do that.” I sat back a little to reach my hands across the table to him. “Give me your hands and think about the medallion.”
“Are you sure this is necessary?” He looked around, uncomfortable, as though he was worried what others might think of us holding hands. “I didn’t know it worked that way. Horace didn’t say anything about that.”
“Gramps probably didn’t want to throw you off.” I tried not to be impatient.
A few people were beginning to leave after the ribbon cutting for the reopening of the coffee shop. One or two saw us and waved or said hello from a distance. No one interrupted us.
No doubt everyone already knew Kevin had left with Ann, and they were wondering why. No one would ask outright—that would be rude. Instead, they’d wait a few hours until Shayla told someone who told someone else. By morning, everyone would assume Kevin and I were over.
Don’t think about it. You don’t know anything—until you hear from Kevin.
“What do you want me to think about the medallion?” Old Man Sweeney asked.
I took a deep breath and shut out all the people around us. The only way I was going to be able to go home and end this difficult day was by finding what Old Man Sweeney was looking for. I had to get it over with.
“Think about what it looked like,” I told him. “Think about how heavy it was and what it was made out of.”
“It was plenty heavy. I’ll tell you that. It looked like one of those trophy things, like they give kids in school. I don’t know what kind. Does that help?”
“You have to think about it,” I said encouragingly. “It won’t do any good to describe it to me.”
Finally I got him to close his eyes, settle down and pretend he was looking at the medallion. It took a lot to keep him from talking about it as I held his worn, callused hands. He’d been a carpenter all of his life. There was no way to know how many things those hands had built. Gramps told me once that when Mrs. Sweeney was alive, Old Man Sweeney had spent all of his free time building beautiful furniture for her. He’d stopped when she died.
I looked into his mind. It was like looking into a person’s attic where they stored the things that were important to them. I felt my usual reaction to being in someone else’s thoughts—shaking all over for a few seconds. That passed as I focused on locating the lost medallion.
After a moment, I saw it. It was resting on the floor, under a table near a goldfish bowl. Newspapers and some junk mail were lying on top of it. No wonder he couldn’t find it.
But when my mind touched it, I knew there was something unusual about the medallion. I’d seen it before, even held it. For a moment, I couldn’t make out what I recognized about it.
Then I knew—it was a gold award medallion that had belonged to a real estate broker named Amanda Sparks. She’d lost it on the road in Duck when she’d visited here in 1964.
My eyes flew open as I realized that the medallion now belonged to her son, Chuck Sparks. I’d returned it to him last year when he’d set up his business, Island Realty, LLC. “I know who this belongs to.”
Old Man Sweeney’s eyes popped open too as he jerked his hands away from mine. “There’s a reward. I suppose you saw that too. Don’t think I’m sharing just because you helped me find the medallion.”
“I don’t want the reward.” I tried to calm his fears. “I was just surprised at finding the medallion again.”
“What are you talking about? I found it.”
“It belongs to Chuck Sparks. I gave it to him last year after finding it on Duck Road.”
“I don’t think so.” Old Man Sweeney looked at me curiously, as if assessing my next move. He took a scrap of paper from his pocket and glanced at the writing on it. “He said his name is Derek. I have his phone number to call him when I find the medallion.”
I really wanted to go home and tell Gramps about what had happened at the Coffee House. I knew he’d say all the right things and I’d feel better. He was good at that.
But that wasn’t going to happen right away. Something about Old Man Sweeney’s finding that medallion seemed off, wrong. I knew it belonged to Chuck Sparks. Why would someone named Derek say it belonged to him and offer money for its return?
I sighed and wondered how I was going to convince my neighbor to let me help him give Derek the medallion so I could find out what was going on.
Chapter 2
Old Man Sweeney’s house looked weatherworn but neat on the outside. I hadn’t been on the inside since I was about six and my mom made me apologize to him for writing on his sidewalk—while the concrete was still wet.
The inside had deteriorated a lot, from what I could remember. The living room looked like our house had before Gramps convinced me that I needed to open a thrift store to sell the things I’d found or collected down through the years. There had been very little room to walk and every flat surface was covered with something that had caught my attention. Some of it was valuable. Some, not so much.
In Old Man Sweeney’s house, assorted items were parked and piled in every corner—from an old bicycle to stacks of books and magazines as well as crates of dishes and bottles. He looked like he needed a thrift store too.
“I don’t know why you insist on being here when I turn the medallion over.” Old Man Sweeney had protested all the way from the coffee shop. He hadn’t let up now that we were at his house either.
“I told you, Mr. Sweeney.” I laid it on thick. “As mayor of Duck, it’s my monthly honor to commend one of our citizens for a good deed. I’d like that to be you at next month’s town council meeting. Don’t you want everyone to know what a wonderful person you are?”
It didn’t work.
He still grumbled and complained, but he managed to call Derek quickly enough after I’d crawled under his table and brought out the lost medallion. I looked at it carefully before I handed it over. It was the same gold medallion I’d found for Chuck. There was no doubt in my mind who the medallion belonged to.
And that was when the vision hit me.
I was standing in the dark, empty parking lot behind the Harris Teeter supermarket. I couldn’t actually see Chuck, but I was fairly sure I was seeing everything from his point of view. He was standing beside a burgundy Lincoln. The headlights were off. A single parking-lot lamppost tried valiantly to illuminate the scene.
“There! You have everything now. What else do you want?” Chuck asked someone I couldn’t see. He was holding his arms up in the air as though he were being robbed.
�
��You’re right.” The voice that responded was deep and husky, as was the laugh that followed. “Thanks for adding to my retirement fund.”
A second later, a shot broke the silence and Chuck fell to the ground, his mother’s medallion rolling out of his limp fingers and onto the pavement. I could sense that he’d been holding it because he was scared and it made him feel lucky.
I could feel the blood and life draining from him, but there was nothing I could do. This event had already happened. I didn’t know when, but I knew it was in the recent past.
Then Chuck turned his head as though by doing so he could see me there with him. “Help her, please.”
I jumped back from the memories encased in the medallion. My breath came quickly and my heart pounded. Chuck’s death was in the past, I reminded myself. He couldn’t have seen me there with him. Maybe he’d been talking to someone else.
But I knew I was just trying to make excuses for this new turn in my abilities. This had never happened to me before. I’d had visions of people, but they could never see me. They certainly never talked to me.
I heard the knock at the door and knew Derek must be there for the medallion—Derek who I realized might be the person who’d robbed and killed Chuck.
Old Man Sweeney started for the front door, probably eager for his reward. I looked at the medallion on the floor where I’d dropped it. What if Derek was trying to tie up loose ends? He must have realized that the medallion was left behind in the parking lot.
But what had happened to Chuck? I’d know if the police had found him dead at Harris Teeter. Like I said, Duck was a small town. I tried not to doubt my visions, but something seemed off about this one. Actually, everything seemed off about it.
Old Man Sweeney was reaching for the door handle when I grabbed him and pulled him back.
“What’s wrong with you, Dae O’Donnell? I’ve a good mind to call Horace and tell him how crazy you’ve been acting today.”
“Good idea! Let’s give him a call right now. I know Derek won’t mind waiting.” I took out my cell phone and hit speed dial to call Gramps. He was a retired sheriff of Dare County. He’d know what to do.
I hoped.
“Bah! Give me that medallion and get out of my way. I don’t care if I get the mayor’s award or not. I just want the re-ward.”
The phone was ringing. I could only hope Gramps was next door. I couldn’t remember if this was his day to train with the volunteer firefighters or play pinochle. Neither, I prayed.
Be next door.
“Horace O’Donnell speaking.”
“Gramps, you have to come over to Old Man Sweeney’s house right away. I’ll explain when you get here. Hurry!”
“I can’t believe you still call him that! What’s wrong, Dae? I’m right in the middle of making some fish stew. I don’t want to leave the stove on.”
“Get over here right away, please!”
At that moment, Old Man Sweeney opened the front door. Derek stood on the doorstep. He smiled when he saw us. He had a pleasantly handsome face, dark brown hair combed away from his forehead. He was well dressed, even wearing expensive shoes. “Hello. I’m here for the lost medallion.”
“I’ve got it right here.” Old Man Sweeney grabbed the medallion from me. “I believe you mentioned a generous reward.”
“Indeed I did.” Derek reached inside his tailored jacket.
I panicked. I couldn’t let him shoot us like he’d shot Chuck. I needed to buy some time. “Won’t you come in and have some iced tea with us? I’m Dae O’Donnell, the mayor of Duck. I don’t recognize you. Are you just visiting?”
As I spoke, I was pulling Old Man Sweeney backward. He kept slapping at my hands, but I kept pulling him anyway. Where is Gramps?
“Nice to meet you, Mayor. I’m Derek Johnson. I’m here on business.”
“And you lost your medallion,” I said sympathetically. “How did you manage to do that?”
“A friend of mine picked me up at the Harris Teeter.” His grin widened—it was even bigger than my mayor’s smile. “I guess I dropped it there. I never go anywhere without it. It’s a good luck charm.”
Suddenly, Gramps came running from around the bushes between our house and Old Man Sweeney’s. He was breathing raggedly, wearing his fishing overalls and straw hat. “For the love of God, Dae, what’s going on?”
I realized abruptly that he didn’t have a gun, like he always used to have when he was the sheriff. I didn’t know what I’d been thinking when I called him. Of course he wasn’t armed! I looked at both the old men and realized I’d only made matters worse. What was he supposed to do—Derek Johnson was probably dangerous.
All three men stared at me. Old Man Sweeney recovered first. “She’s been acting like a fruitcake ever since I told her about finding this man’s medallion. I’m sorry I took your advice, Horace, and asked for her help.”
“If there’s a problem, I can come back later,” Derek said with a polite nod of his head. “If you’ll just give me the medallion—”
“Dae?” Gramps stared angrily at me, probably embarrassed to be caught in this crazy scene.
But I couldn’t forget what I’d seen. If Derek left here now, we might never know what had happened to Chuck. We were going to have to take our chances.
I drew in a deep breath, prepared to tell everyone what I knew, despite the risks. I saw Duck Police Officer Tim Mabry out of the corner of my eye as he pulled his squad car into my driveway.
I hated to put him on the spot, but I didn’t know what else to do. As soon as he saw all of us at Old Man Sweeney’s front door, he started in our direction. “Hey, Dae!”
“Thank goodness you’re here!” I ran to him and brought him close to the group. “You have to arrest this man.” I pointed at Derek Johnson. “I think he killed Chuck Sparks.”
Chapter 3
There was a general ruckus after I’d said those provocative words. It was exactly what I’d expected. The good thing was that Tim did what I’d asked of him and tackled Derek with his long, lanky body, then held him on the ground.
“Get off of him!” Old Man Sweeney shouted. “He’s about to give me a reward. All you young people are just plain crazy. Horace, do something.”
Gramps grabbed my arm and pulled me to one side. “Dae, what’s going on? Did you have a vision or something? I hope it’s something that makes sense, no offense. But you just opened the town up for a lawsuit if it doesn’t.”
I told him about Chuck Sparks’s medallion. “You remember. I gave it to him that night at our place. He offered us a lot of money to sell the house.”
“That’s right.” He asked Old Man Sweeney for the medallion and studied it. “You’re sure this belongs to Mr. Sparks, Dae?”
I kind of stared at him. “Are you really asking me that?”
“Just trying to get the facts straight. Why do you think this man is guilty of anything except maybe stealing this from Chuck?”
“That would be enough, wouldn’t it?” But I told him what I’d seen and heard in the vision. “I haven’t heard anything about Chuck going missing or getting shot, have you?”
As past sheriff, Gramps was very chummy with the new sheriff and all the other law enforcement officials around the Outer Banks. We both knew nothing had shown up on the radar. “If you’re really sure about this, honey, I’ll call Chief Michaels and let him sort it out.”
“I’m really sure.” I shuddered again when I thought about Chuck looking at me while he lay dying.
“What do you want me to do?” Tim asked Gramps, still holding Derek on the front lawn.
“You have the wrong person,” Derek said in an angry tone.
“I’m going to give Ronnie a call.” Gramps made his decision and took out his cell phone. “I’d pat him down, if I were you, Tim. Just to be on the safe side.”
“I assure you it’s not necessary,” Derek complained. “If you’ll let me up, I can prove who I am.”
“I don’t think who you
are is in question, sir,” Gramps said. “But you’ll have plenty of time for answers when our police chief gets here.”
Tim patted his prisoner down and found a small handgun in his jacket pocket. “Not much but it would cause a little sting.”
“I have a permit for that,” Derek said. “A man can’t be too careful anymore. I sometimes have large amounts of cash with me. It’s part of my job.”
“Save it for the chief,” Tim said, then whispered to Gramps, “Should I Mirandize him?”
“The chief will be here soon.” Gramps nodded. “Best wait until then.”
“I might as well go inside and watch TV,” Old Man Sweeney said. “I won’t get any money out of this now. Thanks, Mayor. I won’t be voting for you come next November.”
I hated to lose even one vote, but it couldn’t be helped. Losing Old Man Sweeney’s vote would mean another vote for my opponent, Mad Dog Wilson. Old Man Sweeney might change his mind later if I’d saved his life.
“I still consider you a good Samaritan, Mr. Sweeney,” I told him in a cheerful voice. “I still want to give you that award next month. You’ve earned it.”
“Bah!” He slammed the door in my face.
Oh well.
Police Chief Ronnie Michaels arrived a few minutes later. He always reminded me of an older drill sergeant with his graying flattop, patent leather shoes and carefully pressed uniform. He was about ten years younger than Gramps. They’d worked together at the sheriff’s office before Duck had created its own police force.
“What’s going on here, Horace? I don’t mind you commandeering Officer Mabry, but I hope you had good reason.”
Gramps took Chief Michaels into the driveway, out of earshot of the rest of us, and presumably explained everything. The chief—like everyone else in Duck—knew about my gift. I’d helped him a few times, but he was never too happy about it. Visions and feelings weren’t good police work, he always said. I suspected he liked doing it better without me.
A Haunting Dream (A Missing Pieces Mystery) Page 2